"Golden" by Jessica J Zimdars

He sits now in the golden halls of the palace where he’d grown it, now it is his palace. He yearns for what is forever lost, for what he’d had a chance to have and had thrown it away. The world, once so full of wonder and magic, is now only the world of man. All the beauty and magic are lost, especially to this King.

The golden haired child that the king had chosen to foster plays joyfully in the gardens. The King remembers a time that he’d found joy like that in wondering among nature. But that had been long ago in his quite distance youth, all he had of it now was the memory.

The king rises slowly from his golden throne and leaves the hall to stand on the balcony. For a time he watches the youth and his young nurse-maid play on the paths below. Never had the king married, after leaving his love his heart had been unwilling to soften for any other maiden.

His hand goes to rest heavily on the golden hilt of his sword, just as heavy are his footsteps as he turns and heads down to his stables. He leaves word for all to obey the youth until he returns, and should he not return the youth is his heir and must be treated accordingly. Then he rides out from the palace alone.

He urges his golden horse into a canter as he leaves the city. He can feel the eyes on the city guards watching him with questioning gazes, never since he came to power had he ridden out without the youth at his side. At the cross roads he turns and heads for where there had once stood an ancient forest.

Golden as a field of wheat his hair had been the last time he’d seen this forest; now as he rode the wind ruffled hair that was as white as the seedy heads on the thistles. He stops his horse at the crest of the hill, just before it would have started it’s descent, and he sits and looks down into the valley.

Below him golden leaves cling to young trees as if in defiance to the chilled autumn wind. The young trees surround the one remaining ancient Oak that rises far above their tops and spreads it’s strong branches wide as if protecting it’s young. No human has set foot in the place for fifty years.

He removes his golden circlet and his silken cape and lets both fall to the ground beside him before he urges his horse onward. When he’d taken the throne he’d ordered that no human should ever possess this place, now the road down the hill is all but vanished.

Tiny golden flowers spread like a carpet where a dirt road had once been. The carpet of flowers muffle his horse’s steps as the king rides down towards the forest. At the edge of the trees he dismounts and stands beside his horse, his hand resting lightly on the reins as if he is unsure to go on alone or to take the animal.

What had drawn him here to this golden forest? He knew that there was no one here, and yet he stared into the depth of the forest with an undeniable yearning to enter. He pats his horse on the neck then walks away, leaving the animal standing there. He knows the horse will find it’s own way home, but now this was his path.

Just as the golden light from the setting sun touched the waters of the lake the king reaches the shore. Here he stops and takes the time to look around. To his left and the west three small streams flow into the lake; and to his right a river runs out and to the sea.

The river wound away like a great golden road. It was down the river that his love had gone with her people. They’d gone, never to return. Now down along the river is where the King’s road would take him, and he would not return either. With sure and steady steps he starts on his journey along the river side.